


Finding Home

by anaiire



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 17:05:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9558683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaiire/pseuds/anaiire
Summary: Light touches against lips and collarbones and hips, warm breaths against cheeks and chests... Daryl didn’t know what he was doing. He felt lost and at home all at once.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ajholland17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ajholland17/gifts).



> So this is the first fic I am publishing online and I'm very nervous about it. I hope you all like it! ~Sarah

Light touches against lips and collarbones and hips, warm breaths against cheeks and chests, whispered begs for “more” and “please, god, don’t stop”... Daryl didn’t know what he was doing. He felt lost and at home all at once. He’d sit up at three in the morning smoking a cigarette, wrapping the awful pale blue robe Jesus brought with him from the Hilltop around himself. Jesus hated how much Daryl smoked, but Daryl didn’t care. He tried not to. He’d sit on the windowsill with the window open, listen to the shivered groan of “fucking hell, Daryl, close the fucking window. It’s goddamn wintertime!" as Jesus stirred awake, pulling covers up around him. Daryl’s breath would hitch every time he caught sight of the curve of the younger man’s ass, covered in goosebumps from the cool air. Daryl loved how vulgar Jesus was in the early waking moments, but he preferred hearing it when he was buried in Jesus’ ass, hands full of hair and sheets, moaning against his skin.

Paul.

His name was Paul.

Shit. How much did Daryl care about him? He called him Jesus around the others, not wanting to raise suspicion by calling him his real name. Plenty of newcomers to Alexandria stayed with those that were established there already. Usually they didn’t stay for as long as Jesus was staying with Daryl. Usually they took Rick’s offer to move into their own house, or one of the ones on the outskirts of Alexandria that they had built enough of a fence around to make it somewhat safe until a house in Alexandria opened up. But Rick had offered Jesus many houses many times, and Jesus kept refusing. Because of that, Rick gave Daryl smirks and knowing glances, but said nothing. Daryl hated those looks; he wanted to slap them off of Rick’s face, show him nothing was going on.

But then, there was. Jesus had gone into Daryl’s room one night, using the shitty excuse “hey, have a stomachache, you got anything for it?” Daryl stupidly turned his back, walking to the bathroom that was joined to his bedroom. He felt Jesus’ arms around him, his lips on his neck. He wanted to push him away, tell him to go fuck himself, but he couldn’t. He had denied his attraction to Jesus for so long, telling himself he wasn’t gay, that Merle would come back from the dead--again--to give him hell for being with a man. Daryl Dixon wasn’t gay. But nothing felt better than when Jesus’ hand snaked down the front of Daryl’s sweatpants, light strokes on his cock and Jesus’ thumb teasing the tip. Both men had wanted it for so long. How many nights had Daryl laid awake thinking of this moment. But his panic set it; this would bond him to Jesus in a way that Daryl wouldn’t be able to detach himself. His mind was race. He wanted to push Jesus away and yell at him and--fuck it. He couldn’t fear this the rest of his life. How many times had he almost died in the past year alone? Daryl was terrified of dying alone; he didn’t want to be the lone wolf he was for years anymore. Daryl turned in Jesus’ arms, lips crashing against the younger man’s, hands twining in his hair. How the fuck was it so soft in the goddamn apocalypse? That was the last coherent thought Daryl remembered having, before he lost himself in Jesus.

After that, it seemed everyone knew. People gave him those same looks he hated seeing on Rick’s face. Then Rick and Daryl went on a run alone, while Jesus was back at the Hilltop for some supplies, to check up on how things were going.  
“You’re fucking him.” Rick’s voice was calm and even, not even a hint of a surprise. It wasn’t a question. Daryl didn’t make eye contact with Rick, didn’t want to give anything away.  
“S’what if I am?” He mumbled, eyes glancing to the roadside as they drove in some beat-up car, listening to whatever shitty music Rick had managed to find on cd. What the fuck was someone doing with the weird ass taste in music Rick had? Daryl fucking hated Virginia.  
“He make you happy?”  
“Michonne make you happy?” Daryl spat back, annoyed at the questions. Rick just chuckled and shook his head. He didn’t question it any further.

Aaron and Eric had thrown a party, for whatever reason. Daryl thought it was fucking stupid, and he wasn’t going. People knew he and Jesus were together, but he wasn’t ready for them to really know. He didn’t want them to see. He didn’t need some fucking “yay, you’re gay” party from the original gay Alexandrian couple. “It’s not like that, you ass. We’re alive, shit with the Saviors is settled...for now. That’s the reason for the party.” Jesus tried to reassure him, but Daryl wouldn’t listen. He was nervous. He was scared. He wanted to curl up into a ball on the floor of their bedroom, throw a comforter over him, and pretend he was a pile of clothes and maybe Jesus would leave him alone, go away back into the forest and leave him the fuck alone. But Jesus wasn’t his father. Jesus loved him. Jesus cared for him. Jesus just wanted to be able to show others how much he loved him, even a simple hand-holding down Main Street, but, shit, Daryl wasn’t even used to being out yet. But he went. Jesus gave him those fucking puppy dog eyes--how the fuck were his eyes so damn beautiful--and Daryl gave in. 

He hated that Rick found out. He told Michonne, who in turn probably told Carl. Or Carl overhead. Because then Enid knew, and she told Maggie, who let it slip to Jesus in front of Carol and Aaron that he and Daryl made such a cute couple. Add in some “‘bout time he got laid” and “well, good for him!” from the others, and Daryl didn’t leave the house for three days. That backfired, because neither did Jesus. And Daryl worried what all of Alexandria had thought they were up to when in reality they only fucked once. Okay, fine. Twice. But it was all in one day. So it only counted as once.

Fuck.

People knew. And they didn’t care. They didn’t treat Daryl any different when they saw him. He was still left alone by some, harassed with “but, you know, flour would be amazing if you found any!” as he walked towards the gates to go on runs. If he were in Georgia, and was seen holding hands with a man, his brother and father would know within the hour, and he’d go home to hell. Verbally from his brother and physically from his father. “Ain’t no Dixon gonna be a fuckin’ faggot. Y’leave and c’mere when you ain’t kissin’ the Williams boy again. Fuckin’ Christ, Daryl. Daddy’s gon’ beat yer ass.” Daryl had stayed gone for five days, his daddy had been drunk again, and forgot all about Daryl’s adventures with Tommy Williams. Merle was gone again, and Daryl just prayed his daddy would keep forgetting.

But now, in Alexandria, with his new family, his true family, Daryl was safe. He wasn’t worried about people judging him. And as Daryl sat at the window at three am with a cigarette, he looked back at Paul sleeping, and shivering, and smiled. For once, Daryl felt safe and loved. And he wanted to hold onto that for as long as he could.


End file.
